


Here, again.

by virgil



Category: NieR: Automata (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, cycles beget emotions!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 11:04:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18849790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virgil/pseuds/virgil
Summary: 2B takes 9S to a pool of water, near the forest. She knows how many times they have been here. She knows how this ends.





	Here, again.

**Author's Note:**

> it's angst time baby

“2B, this isn’t where we were supposed to scout.”

He pauses, looks around. It is a cool day. The trees softly rustle in the breeze, bird-calls massage the forest’s murmurings into a quiet symphony. It is summer now, and the sun comes dappled through the branches. We have come to this clearing, where the water laps softly at the shore. I run my fingers across the fine needlework of my skirt.

All these things I do, I log them. Almost unconsciously, a subroutine of a subroutine, my mind running checks constantly. He wasn’t built to do this, but I was. It is a condition of being, no different than breathing. Hyper-awareness, hyper-sensitivity, memory banks a flood of experiential data. Emotions are just an unfortunate side-effect.

And yet, they still come, unbidden.

I turn to him. “Our mission was to destroy the machine nest. We’ve done that, 9S. We might as well take a moment to collect ourselves.”

He cocks his head, uncertain. A familiar gesture. “This isn’t like you, Miss 2B. I thought... I thought we were supposed to return to base?”

He is so pitiable when he has no direct orders. Inquisitive, emotional. All the things I am not allowed to be. I would envy him, in some small way, if I didn’t know my own orders.

The small pool of water is unbroken, calm. Leaves fall from some branches up high. The earth is still alive, even beyond the years it was silent. I think about how many times I have been here. Too many. I do it every cycle, and every cycle it is painful in some new way. He doesn’t deserve this. Maybe I don’t either.

This time, I ask him. “9S, have you ever thought about the Commander?”

He hesitates. He does this once every few cycles. “In what way, 2B?”

“You trust her, yes? You trust Command, and the structure of YorHA?” A crow caws in the distance. Every few times, I ask him. Sometimes it is the other way around. The ending is always the same, but there is a part of me that hopes, each time, that it is not.

9S fiddles with his hands, still standing nervously near the water’s edge. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”

I look toward him. His eye-covering is smudged with dirt near his ear, a consequence of the machine conflict only a few hours earlier. He moved so fast, darting from behind a toppled automaton to slice apart a small pack coming after me. All of it, crystal clear in my head. A consequence of infallible memory. He’s died there, before. Fourteen times. Slightly different circumstances each time but six out of fourteen times, the cloth over his eyes is torn. He cries every time. Calls to me, every time.

I struggle to keep my voice modulated. “Just making sure. Scout models are prone to emotionality. It can be a weakness, 9S.”

“Don’t worry about it, 2B. As long as you’re with me, I’ll be fine.” The light darkens as a cloud passes, the colors of the forest turning from vibrant emerald to the dim colors of a planet growing over its own scars. He laughs, a small laugh. We trust each other, now, as we always end up doing.

“9S, have you ever dreamed?” My voice is low, straining against my own barriers. He skips a rock across the surface of the water, breaking the surface after a couple impacts.

“Sometimes. I think it’s a malfunction. Old memories coming back all jumbled.” He brushes a lock of blonde hair from his face. I wonder how many times I have that picture stored in me. I know his fingers, I know his movements. Every one. Every single one.

“If... if you ever have dreams, about me, would you let me know?” It is hard to get the words out, uncharacteristic of me. He’ll notice. Of course he will. He turns his head again, quizzically. Naive.

Far, far above us, there is a space station filled with the last things that we call humanity. It is a corpse, floating dead, populated with us, the enforcers of the last breath of humanity, struggling against our own bonds. I think of the next time he will wake there, the next one that he will be. It is as inevitable as the sun rising in the morning, and he nearly as beautiful. If I am lucky, I will see him before he wakes, in the calm before reactivation, and I can dream that he will remember me. I am the tide, and he the shore—ever at my horizon, remade anew with every parting.

Deep within me, there is a subroutine of a subroutine and it knows every follicle of his hair, every fingerprint, every eyelash. Every movement. A collection of datapoints, a body of information. Emotions discouraged, an unwanted side effect.

“Of course, 2B. Anything else you need?”

He smiles, again, and I can feel it breaking me.


End file.
